


A Warmth in Winter

by Ponaco



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 16:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15976292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponaco/pseuds/Ponaco
Summary: Dorian hates Southern winters, but doesn't mind getting creative to keep warm. (Fluff and smut)





	A Warmth in Winter

Growing up in Tevinter Dorian heard horrible stories of southern winters. How the snow drifted five feet high and the sun hid behind the clouds for months. The stories were full of nothing but hardship and struggles in the face of never-ending cold and ice. Bundled in countless layers behind the drafty walls of Skyhold Dorian believed those stories weren’t harsh enough. In an act of kindness Dorian would forever appreciate the Inquisitor found the best stove money could buy for Dorian’s chambers and had servants place wall hangings to help insulate the stone. The howling wind and endless snow almost an afterthought in the oasis of warmth in his small chambers.

“I think you’re burning more wood than the rest of the castle combined,” Rawley teased as Dorian carefully closed the stove door.

He watched Dorian from his seat on the bed, propped up by a pile of pillows and surrounded by paperwork Josephine insisted needed his once over before morning. It was still something of a wonder to Dorian how easily the Inquisitor found himself a near permanent fixture in Dorian’s chambers. There were signs of him throughout the room, in a discarded piece of clothing or the box of sweets nestled amongst Dorian’s belongings on his vanity. His presence more of a comfort than the best stove in all of Thedas. Bare-foot and clad only in a pair of loose-fitting linen pants Dorian thanked the heat for Rawley’s ever increasing state of undress. 

“Well, I must put your generous gift to good use, yes?” Dorian said, a coy smile on his lips.

“Honestly, you looked so sad shuffling around the castle wrapped in all those scarves and furs. I had to do something,” Rawley replied.

Dorian felt a tinge of heat warm the tips of his ears at the sight of the cheeky grin flashed his way. He cleared his throat and swung the end of the lone scarf currently keeping his neck warm. Rawley laughed before scribbling his signature on an almost comically long scroll. Dorian treasured that sound more than he was willing to admit aloud. If he heard the Inquisitor’s laughter from across the yard as he spared with the Chargers or chuckled at one of Sera’s more colorful jokes the sound of it always made him smile. He loved it even more when he was the only one to hear it.

“I can think of one other thing you can do to keep me warm,” Dorian said.

“There’s more wood by the stables,” Rawley mumbled in reply, his nose buried in another scroll and clearly not paying attention to Dorian’s obvious meaning.

Dorian felt his brow knit together in a frown. This wasn’t entirely how he envisioned the evening proceeding. He had a plan. It wasn’t the most creative or elaborate, but he wasn’t about to play second fiddle to a stack of parchment. He would have to pry Rawley’s attention away from his work by any means necessary; for both their sakes.   
The silken scarf was the first article of clothing to hit the floor, flowing through his fingers like water. The delicate movement didn’t even gain a glance in his direction. It was obvious something more drastic was in order. He lifted his shirt over his head with an unnecessary arch of his back. The buckles and heavy material landed with a dull thud that finally captured the Inquisitor’s attention. A sly smile slid across Dorian’s face at the wide green eyes staring at him over the top of a pile of parchment. He made a show of unlacing his breeches; deft fingers pulling the ties from their binds before sliding the leather down and over his hips to pool at his feet on the floor.

“Well, that certainly won’t help with the cold,” Rawley teased around a slow swallow and deepening blush that made his ears burn red.

“No?” Dorian said with a flippant wave of his hand. “I’m suddenly not bothered by it.”

He moved towards the bed, his heart racing in his chest from the unwavering gaze that watched each step. The rustle of papers filled the air as he pushed the offending parchments to the floor and climbed atop the mattress. A rush of heat welcomed him, strong and persistent and radiating from Rawley’s skin in an inviting thrum. Dorian took hold of his face and leaned in for a kiss. Soft and languid, it turned up at the corners in a smile he could feel but not see. 

“I need to finish these for tomorrow,” Rawley insisted even as he moved to deepen the kiss and run appreciative hands over the curve of Dorian’s shoulders.

“They’re quite finished,” Dorian countered.

The remainder of the papers slid from the bed into an undignified pile on the floor, quickly and utterly forgotten. Lips found one another yet again and Dorian pulled him closer until their chests pressed flush against each other. The wind and snow now seemed some horrible memory under Rawley’s warm, roaming hands. A gasp left Dorian’s lips at the searing press of a palm to the small of his back, the flash of heat pooling dangerously low in his belly.

“I do believe a thank you is in order,” Dorian said, pulling back slightly from an impending kiss that was certain to further destroy his plans to regain the upper hand.

“You don’t have to do anything special, Dorian,” Rawley replied, settling for a kiss to Dorian’s neck when his attempts at a proper kiss were thwarted. “I wanted to get the stove for you.”

“And while that is very sweet, my Darling I would like to do something special for you all the same,” Dorian said, biting back a moan as Rawley’s mouth closed around the pulse point beneath his ear.

He pulled away and placed his palms firmly on Rawley’s chest, pushing him back onto the mattress. Not putting up a fight he chuckled and raised his arms above his head to grip the headboard and shift into a more comfortable position. Dorian crawled atop him, hovering just enough so they did not touch. He leaned down for a quick kiss to the tip of his nose and was rewarded with another warm chuckle.

“Lift your hips,” he instructed. “You’re wearing far too much clothing.”

A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of Rawley’s mouth and a blush roared to life once more across his skin, before he silently complied. Dorian made quick work of the strings on his breeches before slowly pulling them down his legs. He gave an appreciative quirk of his eyebrow at the knowledge the Inquisitor was not wearing any small clothes.

“How considerate of you,” he teased. “Half ready for me already.”

“What exactly do you have planned?” Rawley asked, the blush spreading down to tint his collarbones a light shade of pink as Dorian dropped his breeches off the side of the bed.

“Where is the fun in ruining a surprise?” Dorian replied, running his hands slowly up Rawley’s legs. “Now, be a dear and roll over.”

Rawley’s eyes widened slightly and his next laugh clung to a hint of nervousness. “I’m not really a fan of surprises,” he said, pushing up onto his elbows.

Dorian let his hands linger on Rawley’s thighs. Gentle touches and more pressured fingers along his hip drew a quiet sigh and shudder. He leaned down for a kiss, pulling back when Rawley relaxed into the embrace.

“You’ll enjoy this surprise, I’m quite certain,” Dorian murmured. “And if you do not. I will stop. All you need is to say the word.”

Rawley raised an eyebrow and slowly rolled over onto his side casting Dorian with one more suspicious look before lying on his stomach. He wiggled around on the blankets and punched the pillow to beat it into submission as he crossed his arms atop it and settled in. Dorian chuckled. He smoothed his mustache with his forefinger and thumb, watching Rawley wiggle once more in an attempt to get comfortable.

“Are you quite done?” he asked. “I could put the kettle on if you’re going to be awhile.”

“It’s not my fault your bed is so lumpy,” Rawley grumbled, wiggling his hips once more for emphasis.

Dorian swung his leg over him, straddling his hips and effectively pinning him in place. Leaning forward he pressed his palms into the small of Rawley’s back and pushed his hands up in a slow, languorous pass, stopping to lavish attention on the knots in his shoulders. He felt Rawley start to relax beneath his ministrations. A quiet sigh filled his lungs with air and Dorian worried, not for the first time, about how prominent his ribs stood out.

“You’re skin and bones,” he murmured with a disapproving tut. “And how do you even lift your arms with these knots in your shoulders?”

“Sorry,” Rawley replied, his voice already heavy as his eyes fluttered closed. “Ow, yeah…there,” he added through a quick hiss of discomfort when Dorian pressed into a particularly stubborn knot.

“I shudder to think what would become of you without me taking care of you,” Dorian said. 

He tried to sound light and teasing, but an unmistakable hint of worry clung to his words. The inquisition ran him ragged and always eager to please, Rawley let them. Dorian stepped in where he could and often when he shouldn’t. If Rawley wouldn’t stand up for himself and his needs Dorian was more than happy to take up the fight. He kneaded out the last of the knot and pressed a soft kiss to a particularly enticing splash of freckles across his shoulders. 

“Hope to never find out,” Rawley murmured.

A flush of warmth spread across Dorian’s face at the quiet words. It still took him off guard; kind words uttered with such sincerity. He had no reason to doubt them, not anymore. Rawley Trevelyan was many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them and yet it still always seemed to catch Dorian by surprise. Quiet proclamations of his affections or loud and uninhibited compliments in shared company that could only be interpreted in one way brought an equal blush to Dorian’s skin and a flutter of something deeper in his chest. He cleared his throat and moved his hands lower, lavishing attention on the curve of his lower back and hips.

“Mmm, s’nice,” Rawley murmured, failing to stifle a yawn that Dorian found disarmingly adorable.

He smirked and continued his careful kneading of Rawley’s back and gluts, giving one cheek a light smack. The sleepy chuckle that elicited only made his confidence grow. He reached out to the fade, the cool snap of magic tingling along his fingertips and up his forearms. He whispered a quiet incantation into pliant skin beneath his hands. Rawley let out an undignified squawk and wiggled in a futile attempt to avoid what was already done.

“What? What was that?” he stammered, trying to turn over onto his back.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dorian said, attempting and failing to hide a knowing smirk. “Just a little prestidigitation. I didn’t think it would hurt.”

Rawley blushed scarlet from the nape of his neck past his shoulder blades. He buried his face into the pile of pillows propped beneath his arms and Dorian had good reason to suspect his face was an equally bright shade of red. Another shudder ran through his body and he wiggled under Dorian’s renewed press of hands.

“Didn’t hurt,” he grumbled. “Felt like someone poured ice water through my insides,” he turned his head to offer a small glare. “Maybe warn me next time you want to use magic…down there.”

“Deepest apologies, my Darling,” Dorian replied, he leaned over to kiss him along the rather pronounced scar that marred his right ribs. “Now, do try to relax,” he murmured, trailing kisses to the soft hollow of his hip. 

Dorian plied him back into a more comfortable position with light kisses and skilled hands. Cupping his backside he moved his thumbs in slow circles. He cast one last glance up at the back of Rawley’s head before spreading his cheeks apart and lavishing the tight ring of muscle with one, long slide of his tongue. His efforts were met with another surprised yelp and an instant flail of limbs across the sheets.

“What, what…why…what are doing?” Rawley stammered, wide-eyed and practically aflame with blush.

“I was attempting to thank you,” Dorian replied calmly.

“You,” Rawley said, struggling to find words. Dorian half expected him to grab a blanket to cover himself. “You don’t have to do that Dorian,” he said in a hushed whisper, looking around as though a disapproving Chantry mother might pop out from behind the curtains and scold them both.

Dorian slowly walked his fingers up the inside of Rawley’s thigh and did his best impression of an innocent man. A slight shiver met his fingertips, goosebumps rising on sensitive skin. There was warmth as there always was; an ever burning fire waiting just beneath the surface. He wasn’t Rawley’s first. He knew that for certain, but those other times, those others; hurried, quiet affairs in hidden rooms ever fearful of being caught. It was a travesty in Dorian’s opinion, that he never knew a gentle hand or the excruciating pleasure of taking one’s time.

“I know I don’t have to,” Dorian said, his mouth curling into a wicked smile. “But I would very much like to.”

A nervous laugh tumbled past Rawley’s lips and he pushed his hair back in a thinly-veiled attempt to stall. “All right,” he said. He cleared his throat and blushed a new shade of scarlet. “I mean…why?”

Dorian smiled and traced the path of his fingertips with feather-light kisses. “I want to make you feel good,” he replied, kneading his fingers into the muscles along Rawley’s lower back. “And trust me, my Darling. It will feel very good indeed.”

Another laugh touched the air, nervous and excited in its timber. “All right, if you insist.”

“If I insist he says,” Dorian chuckled.

He wasted no time, dipping his head to lavish another slow slide of his tongue against his entrance. A startled gasp and instinctive wiggle of his hips met his renewed efforts. Dorian slid his hands up Rawley’s hips and pressed down to keep him grounded. 

“Oh, all right, you’re…you’re just…okay so you’re doing that,” Rawley said, his rambling accompanying the tensing of what seemed to be every muscle in his body.

“Relax,” Dorian instructed, running his hands up his legs amid another light circle of his tongue.

“I’m…I’m trying to relax,” he said, letting out a nervous chuckle. “A bit hard with your tongue, oh!”

His words failed him as Dorian persisted. A long, slow slide of his tongue managed to change the nervous ramblings into an encouraging moan. This wasn’t Dorian’s first attempt at such a thing, although he did not necessarily consider himself an expert either. To his relief Rawley Trevelyan was a decidedly easy book to read when it came to his enjoyment. A few more minutes of attention and the nervous tension in his body lessened with each catch of his breath and pass of Dorian’s tongue.

“Oh…Maker…fuck,” he murmured, pushing his face into the pillow to muffle another moan that merged with a string of appreciative profanities.

“Mmm, such vulgarity with the Maker’s name?” Dorian teased, his hand sliding beneath him for some teasing of a different variety. “You must really enjoy that.”

Any reply Rawley intended caught in his throat when Dorian wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. He groaned and pushed his hips back, eager to get closer to the returned tongue and gain any sort of friction against Dorian’s loose grip. A few painstakingly slow strokes of his hand left Rawley hard and glistening on his tip against the sheets. Dorian felt his own length grow heavy and rigid between his legs, aching to be touched.

“Dorian.”

The quiet moan of his name did nothing to lessen the growing tension in his body. He lifted his head and gave one of Rawley’s cheeks a playful nip. He inched forward on his knees and hovered over Rawley’s back; the other man arching up to meet him. His skin burned hot to the touch and Dorian felt his lips sear as he placed a kiss to the back of his neck. He firmed his grip on Rawley’s cock and delighted in the moan of approval rumbling through his chest.

“You’re gorgeous,” Dorian murmured, unable to keep his own hips from instinctively moving against Rawley’s backside. “Positively exquisite.”

“F-fuck,” Rawley said, his voice almost a growl.

Dorian chuckled and leaned forward to take hold of his ear between his teeth. “Perhaps if you ask nicely,” he said with a small squeeze of his hand.

“Please,” Rawley whimpered. 

He pushed up into Dorian in encouragement and rolled over onto his back the instant Dorian moved to fetch oil from the nightstand. Rawley sprawled across the bed in a lewd display far removed from his usual shy demeanor. Dorian nearly dropped the glass bottle at the sight of him reaching down to stroke himself as he moaned and bit his bottom lip. Dorian gently moved his hand away and pressed a heated kiss to the resulting pout.

“Now, now you’ll finish before we even get started,” Dorian murmured, a wicked smile flashing across his lips.

“Then hurry up,” Rawley replied with a smirk of his own.

“Oh no, no,” Dorian said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval. “Tonight is not about hurrying.”

“You’re a monster,” Rawley chuckled, watching intently as Dorian slicked his fingers liberally with oil, his pupils blown wide.

“We’ll see where talk like that gets you,” Dorian said.

He lifted his chin in his best haughty expression before pushing apart Rawley’s knees. A flicker of triumph sparked in his chest at the tiny gasp Rawley attempted to hide at the lightest touch of Dorian’s finger against his entrance. He moved excruciatingly slow, savoring every gasp and impatient wiggle it earned him. He paused as he pushed beyond his second knuckle, dropping his head to take the tip of Rawley’s cock into his mouth. Dorian tried to hold back a laugh at the sudden jerk of Rawley’s hips and the decidedly filthy string of obscenities that followed.

Dorian swirled his tongue around the head before moving his mouth further down his length, hollowing his cheeks as his pulled up. Rawley’s fingers entwined in Dorian’s hair, flexed and pressed against his scalp with increasing urgency. His low moans turned unintelligible as Dorian pulled his lips up his length one last time before he lifted his head with a grin. He let his fingers slide from inside him as he reached once more for the glass bottle. He bit back a moan of his own as he covered his cock in the cool liquid.

“Ready?” he asked, even as Rawley squirmed with impatient whimpers against the sheets.

“Fuck yes,” he panted.

Dorian took hold of his legs, pushed his knees apart, and lifted his hips. He paused at his entrance, staring intently at the look of near desperation on Rawley’s face before slowly moving to push inside. The slow push and stretch left them both panting until Dorian sat buried inside him. Heat and pressure surrounded him and threatened to steal all sense of control and rational thought. He started to move inside him, slow, shallow thrusts that increased in speed and depth with each slide until the man beneath him lost any pretenses of being quiet.

“Fuck...yes…Dorian, harder,” he begged.

The breathy command nearly sent Dorian over the edge. A deep growl grew in his chest and he took hold of Rawley’s legs to gain a better angle. Rawley’s voice caught in his throat, hoarse moans and proclamations that could be Dorian’s name or blasphemous prayers. He reached up to grab the headboard with his left hand, the distinct smell of burning wood filled the room as his fingers glowed red and seared into the smooth oak. With his other hand he took hold of his cock, pumping desperately in time with Dorian’s thrusts. Just as Dorian felt his own resolve start to crumble Rawley arched his back and came with a strangle cry and a distinct flash of heat from every inch of his skin. Dorian slid out and finished himself with a few frantic pumps of his hand, cumming in thick strips across Rawley’s stomach.

Dorian collapsed next to Rawley on the mattress, his muscles heavy and his thoughts marred by a welcomed fog of bliss. He pushed his hair back from his eyes and rolled onto his side once his breath returned and he could even consider forming words. Rawley stretched out, curling and uncurling his toes while prying his hand away from the indent now burned into the headboard. He offered a sheepish smile and brushed off blackened soot onto the bedsheets.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Dorian reached out a gentle hand to his face, tilting him towards him to capture his lips in a slow and sated kiss. “It’s quite all right,” he murmured, circling his thumb along the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “I take it as a testament to me skill.”

Dorian pressed closer to feel the resulting chuckle rumble deep in Rawley’s chest. He leaned in for another kiss, completely oblivious to the storm that raged in the cold just beyond his chamber walls.


End file.
